


Apples

by SkartoArgento



Series: Drabbles [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: 500 wordcount, Apples, BOW hunting, M/M, Mercenaries AU, Slightly possessive Jake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkartoArgento/pseuds/SkartoArgento





	Apples

The village has been deserted for a long time. Nature winds through windows and across cobbles to reclaim. A sign hangs limp from one window: _dejar!_

When Sasha peers over the lip of the well in the main square, Jake steps besides him and spits down the gaping hole. His lips twitch at Sasha’s frown.

“It’s good luck.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his glove. “Told you that little shit was lying. Fucking ‘reliable source’ my ass. They never had BOWs here. Place isn’t big enough for stray mutts.”

“Perhaps there’s something underground.”

“You want to root around in the dirt, be my guest. I’m telling you, was never anything here.”

“They left for a reason, Jake.”

“Jeez. Stubborn bitch.” Jake’s still smiling. “Fine. Nearly time to hunker down anyway. Got our share of buildings to pick from. Not like last time, huh?”

 Sasha slings the rifle over his shoulder. Tracking down undercover BOW dealers is only as glamorous as the location. Chasing rumours and whispers around the arctic circle with no roof over their heads killed any future desire Sasha might have had for camping holidays.

Jake kicks in the door of the most secure looking building. He goes gun-first, scours the building from top to bottom before he lets Sasha inside. They’ve had little chats before about this damn overprotective streak. They’re supposed to be partners. Sasha is not some child. He can handle himself well enough during action. But there’s something in Jake that seems to refuse to acknowledge this.

Jake gives him the all clear from a window on the top floor. Mice scurry around Sasha’s feet when he crosses the threshold, and run squeaking into the walls. Dust covers every inch of the furniture inside.

In the kitchen, a wild apple tree has stolen one leafy branch in through the open window. The fruit is heavy and green.

“Jesus,” says Jake, his boots grinding broken glass into the floor tiles, “how long has this place been abandoned?” He reaches past Sasha and twists one of the apples from the branch. When he bites down into it, he makes a face. “Sour. Figures. Better than nothing, I guess.”

There’s fire in his eyes.

Sasha leans back against the kitchen counter. Jake holds the apple up, close enough for Sasha to smell it. He reaches out to take it, but Jake pulls it back. “No. Bite, _partner_.”

He is good at following orders.

There’s the sharp, bitter taste of apple, and then there’s the warm, sweet taste of _Jake._ The kisses always bruise, sometimes bleed, but Sasha likes to think he gives as good as he gets.

Jake’s hands are in his hair, round his back, and _God,_ his hips are pinning him to the counter. Sasha tries to pull in a breath to speak, to tell his partner that they’re supposed to be hunting for BOWs, but he is kissed again, and Jake mutters some deep and husky promise about a bed upstairs.  


End file.
